


Stories to Tell

by Drakey



Series: With Apologies [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, M/M, Occasional Forays Into the Explicit, Sirius Lives, Sirius and his Amazing Terrible Taste, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakey/pseuds/Drakey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after his latest defeat, Voldemort remains missing. Albus Dumbledore is convinced he's out there, ready and waiting to return again. Sirius Black, at Dumbledore's side, quietly advocates for the aging headmaster's position.<br/>Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter wander just a little aimlessly through life, both beginning to wonder if life was better when teachers told them what to do all the time.<br/>Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas know exactly what they want out of life, and naturally they envy their friends' listless freedom.<br/>Hermione Weasley finds herself part of a tiny group at the Ministry of Magic who still care what Dumbledore has to say.</p>
<p>And Voldemort?  Voldemort waits for his next chance at glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LapOtter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapOtter/gifts).



> The first chapter of this fic is gifted to LapOtter, who inspired it.

Sirius Black moved on from the day-glo orange shirts to the ones that were the color of a pizza stain on distilled essence of nineteen-seventy-five. 

"Those are ugly as well," Remus said helpfully.

"Yes, but look how vibrant they are!" Sirius objected. "They positively exude cheery clashing with everything around them!" He made a beeline for one Remus had been hoping he wouldn't spot and exclaimed "Ooh, ruffles! I love ruffles!"

"And yet you never wear them," Remus muttered, pointedly examining a pinstriped blue shirt that did not, in any way, make his eyeballs vibrate. 

"Not to wear," Sirius said as though the very notion of him wearing something ridiculous was completely mad, as though Remus hadn't _seen_ him at James' wedding, dancing in a neon-yellow shirt and powder-blue trousers. "They're just so excellent to _feel!_ "

Remus was sure that he was going to be asked by yet another thrift-store clerk to control his husband's volume, at which point he would have to explain that Sirius wasn't his husband, he was just having a flamboyant sort of a day and dragging his best mate around because (presumably) he enjoyed the look of exquisite torment on Remus' face every time he had to look at yet another rack full of completely horrid clothes in almost deliberately godawful colors.

"Sirius, keep it down," Remus suggested with what he hoped was a good deal of affability rather than, for example, simmering anger.

Sirius looked down at the ruffled shirt in his hands, sighed, pulled a pair of vinyl trousers consideringly from the rack next to him, then shook his head, putting them back. "Best to get those new and tailored," he mumbled, heading for the register. "You're right, Remus. I think I've got my find for today."

Remus had ceased to disbelieve his friend's outlandish purchases. So far as he was concerned, Sirius Black ran an orphanage for hideous clothes, terrible furniture, and paint colors that clashed violently even with themselves. The ruffled, stale-cheddar-colored shirt would likely be added to a merry cacophony of unapologetically loud garments, perhaps to frolic with the large collection of feather boas Remus knew Sirius had, but had never seen him wear.

For fear of accidentally opening the Home for Hideous Things and being buried in an avalanche of gaudy fabric, Remus always opened closets at Sirius' house with a healthy measure of caution.

Sirius took his purchase out of the thrift store, receiving an aren't-you-sweet smile from the girl at the register, and ran his hand happily over the ruffles before he stuffed it unceremoniously into his bag. Remus knew from experience he would never see it again.

"How are the boys?" Remus asked.

"Completely mental as always," Sirius said. "Draco's decided he wants to be a model for something to do on weekends. I'd tell you what Harry's up to, but he's like as not to switch off again any minute."

"And your boy?"

Sirius snorted. "I'd hardly call Albus Dumbledore 'boy,' Remus. I'm taking care of him as usual. Getting him to eat instead of working all day."

"If you could get him to retire," Remus said for what felt like the millionth time.

"We all know he never would," Sirius sighed. "Some days, I think he must be afraid to do it. If he spent all day with me, every day, he might begin to have sexual thoughts, after all."

"He has them anyway," Remus replied knowingly.

"Yes, but he'd be forced to acknowledge them."

"You know you're in love with a madman?"

Sirius quirked a sardonic smile at Remus. 

"Yes, I know, you're quite as mad as he is. I suppose your madness complements his, so it's all right."

+----+

Albus was in the parlor at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius pulled out his new ruffled shirt and snatched away the pointed hat that Albus _insisted_ on wearing around the house. Albus let out a noise of protest, then of surprise as Sirius brushed the shirt across his face before replacing the hat.

Albus let out a tiny sigh. "I see you've collected something new. Ruffles, this time?"

"Naturally. I love ruffles, they feel great."

He didn't show it, of course, but Albus smiled. "Is there no aspect of the fashion missteps of the past you can't twist to your own enjoyment?" He couldn't help recalling the time he'd walked in on Sirius with a vintage Victorian shawl. The man might be asexual, but he certainly wasn't asensual. It had been quite a sight.

"Naturally not." Sirius pulled out his wand and sent the shirt off to roost with his other toys. He leaned over Albus' shoulder and frowned at the small collection of bottled pensieve memories in front of him. "New lead?"

"I believe so," Albus said. "You recall the memory I showed you from Hokey the House Elf? The one about Tom Riddle?"

"Of course," Sirius said.

"Well," Albus puffed himself up with just a bit of triumph, "I believe I can point to another piece of the puzzle. I would not dare approach the home of the Gaunt family without some measure of certainty, but this... this may be what I need. It is only that..." here he sighed. "I dare not strike just yet. Voldemort might feel such a move against him. But there is a memory, from the mind of a very old woman indeed, of Marvolo Gaunt, and his peculiar attire."

Sirius frowned. "Attire? But the locket--"

"Is not the artifact I seek. No, a ring, with a very particular symbol etched upon its stone. Gaunt was overheard, only once, of course, speaking of his family crest. The symbol on the ring is no crest, so where came he by that notion? A puzzle, Sirius, and one that I must solve."

Sirius glanced down at the papers on the table. There, on one of them, was a triangle, with a circle inside of it, and a line bisecting it. Beneath it, Albus had written one word.

_Gellert?_

+----+

"Do you recall," Draco began, gelling his hair into obedience in front of the mirror in the bathroom, "when we graduated from Hogwarts, and I couldn't get my dress robes on over my hair?"

"Happily," Harry confirmed. He was lounging on the loveseat. Draco, naturally, hated the thing. He preferred to squish together with Harry into the largest chair in the apartment, which was not nearly large enough for two, which was probably why he preferred to squish into it with Harry. "I seem to recall that it was the incident that finally killed your punk phase. Not a moment too soon, it's awkward shagging a bloke who's got his head propped up by a mohawk."

"So that's a vote against a mohawk?"

"Try it," Harry shot back. "You'll get an excellent reminder how long I can go without sex."

Draco sighed gustily and theatrically, but when he reemerged a couple of minutes later, he had his hair in a relatively respectable style that nonetheless looked as though he'd lost an argument with a barbershop.

"They all think you're dating a stylist down at the studio," Harry said.

"There's an idea," Draco said. "It'd give you something to do."

"No thanks." Harry grimaced. "I'm not cut out for it."

"You can't cut up for it, you mean?"

Harry swung his legs down. "I mean my hair will never do what I want it to, and no one wants a haircut from someone with a bird's nest on top of his head."

"No one not willing to have adventures once in a while, anyway," Draco said. "Better than that time Seamus cut Dean's hair, though."

Harry grinned at the memory. "I really pity the front desk clerk at Saint Mungo's."

"Take me to the studio?" Draco said.

"Every time." Harry stood up and escorted his boyfriend to the studio where he had yet to actually model for anything that wound up in print. That escorting him consisted of apparating together to the alley behind the studio building didn't really bother Harry. He walked all the way in with him, and because he had nothing to do, he stayed to watch the photo shoot. It killed time, if nothing else.

+----+

Hermione didn't thump her head against the table, but that was mostly because she was too fond of her brain to risk even the slightest damage. 

"That bad?"

The voice of Dean Thomas was familiar enough that she didn't look up. "You have no way of knowing I'm not just tired. Get out of my head, legilimens."

"That--"

"--requires eye contact, I know."

Dean must have sat down across the table from her, because the other chair squeaked a bit and a pair of light clunks signaled the arrival of two cups of coffee. Hermione assumed he was taking his break to chat with her. "The thing is, I don't need to read your mind. I've seen enough Ministry officials through this cafe that I can tell when someone is fighting the urge to bash her poor little brains out on the table. What's wrong?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a crazy old man obsessed with proving his old enemy is back, and his support for H.E.R.A. obviously means it's a bad idea."

"How bad?" Dean asked. 

"Didn't make it past the head of my department." Hermione indulged in a small head-thump. "Maybe I ought to join you working here."

"You'd go spare in a day," Dean said. "I keep sane by drawing things in people's foam."

Hermione looked at the foam in her coffee cup. Dean had drawn a surprisingly detailed penis in it. "Good thing you're taken. That's charming, Dean."

He shrugged. "I try. Has Ron had any better luck with the aurors?"

"Well, they put him on a field assignment last week," Hermione said. "But he wound up comforting a widow instead of chasing a Death Eater. What about you? Sold any paintings?"

"Not a one." Dean grimaced. "Sold off a sculpture, of all things. Seamus' torso on a pedestal. The buyer said it was high concept. I think she was drunk."

Hermione chuckled. "Why is Seamus the one doing well?"

"Because he makes money off of being loud," Dean said. "And Harry and Draco--"

"Dean, not now," Hermione interrupted. "I'm really not in the mood for another talk about why I should get in touch with Harry. He doesn't want anything to do with the Ministry, Ron doesn't want anything to do with Harry, and I don't want anything to do with anything. Except possibly more coffee."

Dean sighed. "All right. Suit yourself, Hermione."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are again. In between petting the cats and drinking a soda, I've laid the groundwork for another long-ass storyline.
> 
> I'll tell you one thing, I can't wait for Draco's "career" in modeling to pay off for this story, since that's going to be one of the more interesting arcs, however many chapters in I get to it.

Harry was surprised to find an owl waiting for him when he returned from escorting Draco to his photo shoot. It wasn't as though owls for Harry were particularly rare, but after three weeks of living without the filtering effects of residence at Hogwarts to keep the insane post to a minimum, he had unabashedly pestered Draco into getting a Malfoy house elf to screen his letters. He didn't know how exactly it worked, but it worked. He was, therefore, a bit surprised, not by the presence of an owl, but by the presence of an owl _that he didn't recognize._ It was an unusually large barn owl, and it kept eyeing Hedwig like it disapproved of her in some nameless way. Hedwig, across the room and safely ensconced on her favorite perch, ignored it studiously. 

"I hope Dean hasn't gone and got another new owl," Draco said. "Seamus is doing well enough, but I doubt they can afford too many more of the things."

Harry shrugged, walking up to the owl and taking its proffered leg to untie the parchment attached to it.

"Not Dean," Harry told him. He unrolled the parchment further and let his eyes widen slowly. "Hermione. Hermione Weasley."

"And Stoppsy let it through?"

Harry shrugged. "Stoppsy is good at her job. Take a look." He handed over the letter and watched as Draco read it.

Draco grimaced. "Stoppsy is just looking to get better food."

Harry smacked him teasingly on the back of the head. "Quiet. Awful man." He took the letter back, glancing it over again.

_Harry,_

_I know I haven't contacted you in ages, and I'm sure you don't exactly appreciate hearing from me out of nowhere, but a mutual friend of ours has convinced me to give this a try. You might have heard about the House Elf Rights Act making its way through the Ministry right now. I'm sure you'll be unsurprised to hear that I'm a big supporter. I even helped draft it, but it's in trouble; it wound up back on my desk this morning. If it gets rejected again, it won't make it into law._

_The problem is that Professor Dumbledore threw his support behind the H.E.R.A. after he heard about it, and with Scrimgeour out of the Minister's office and that awful little woman in (really, you have no idea how difficult it is with her in charge), Dumbledore's name has turned to mud with most of the power players and bureaucrats. I can't get the act through on my own, and if it dies in low levels like this, it might just kill my career._

_I know I'm asking a lot of you, but it's for a very good cause, and you'd be helping me out as well. I really wish you would step up to support the House Elf Rights Act. Your name still carries enough weight with the public that you could probably get this thing through._

_I know you don't want to work with the Ministry, and I'm sorry that the first thing I've said to you in two years is "please get involved in Ministry business for me," but I'm desperate, and I don't know who else to turn to._

_Hermione Granger  
Clerk, Werewolf Support Services, Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_

_P.S. I'm sorry about the official signature, I had to use Department parchment because I'm still at work right now._

"You're not going to do it, are you?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry said. "Hermione can do this on her own. And I really don't want to deal with the Ministry."

"Maybe if someone were to set the Minister on fire," Draco posited leadingly. Harry chuckled, kissing him on the cheek and leading him off to the bedroom. Draco called out for Stoppsy to take care of sending the negative reply back with the owl.

+----+

Albus was staring at a drawing when Minerva came into his office. He laid it down on his desk and smiled one of the sadder smiles in his repertoire at her. "Good afternoon, Minerva."

She sat down across from him. "Albus, the minister contacted me this morning. She says she still hasn't received your reply."

Albus sighed. "I'm terribly sorry, Minerva. Yes, tell her that Hogwarts will be accepting her offer."

"Have you tried contacting Harry Potter?" Minerva asked. "Everyone who was friends with him has gone by now."

Albus frowned. "No, Minerva. He's too young, and the position is too dangerous."

Minerva inspected the edge of Albus' desktop for a moment. "You disagree," he said.

"Albus," Minerva said, freed to speak by his prompting, "you know as well as I do that if you allow the ministry to place the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of their choosing at Hogwarts, there will be a smear campaign against you in your own halls."

Albus sighed. "Minerva, I know that if I were to ask him, he would come to my assistance. I do not know that he would think about the offer beforehand. He is too young."

"His test scores disagree with you."

"He lacks experience."

"I can't argue with that," Minerva admitted. "But our options are few and far between. And Harry Potter is perhaps the only person who could control a class as young as he is."

Albus shook his head. "No, Minerva. Tell the minister we will accept her offer. Perhaps, in a couple of years, we will turn to Mister Potter for help."

+----+

When Harry and Draco wandered into the kitchen in what was technically still the morning, the big barn owl was back. Attached to its leg this time was a copy of the full text of Hermione's pet legislation, and a note.

_Please just see me, Harry._

_~H_

Harry sighed when he read the note, and Draco sighed when Harry started reading the House Elf Rights Act. "You're going to see her, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "The worst she can do is talk me into it, and that's not very likely."

Draco scowled. "This is going to end badly, you know."

"Probably," Harry agreed. "Give me something to do, though."

"Yes, being miserable is always so entertaining," Draco said darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I already know what career Harry is going to go into, and it kinda delights me. 
> 
> You guys, however, have to watch me set up multifarious strange possibilities.
> 
> Anyone who guesses who the Minister for Magic is gets an internet-cookie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a little bit of Snape this chapter. I love writing him.

"Harry, it's so good to see you again!"

Harry stared at Hermione for a moment. She had recommended the cafe where Dean worked as a meeting place, and she was smiling like he was the best thing she'd ever seen.

"Hermione, I don't visit Dean at work so that you and I can avoid each other." Harry walked over to a little spot in the corner with plush chairs and flopped down in one. "I'm here because your career is more important than me not having to be awkward around you."

Hermione settled into another chair. A barista walked over, presumably to tell them they had to order something, not just sit there. Harry looked up at him, and the man blanched and backed away when he saw who he was about to tell off.

"Harry," Hermione said, "if you don't think the House Elf Rights Act is a good idea--"

"If I thought it was a bad idea, I wouldn't support it." Harry looked down at his feet and sighed. "I like it, Hermione, but going out in support of it... you know, publicly."

"You value your privacy, I know, but Harry, this is important. I mean, it's not just me. I want the House Elves to be... well, I'd like to liberate them, eventually."

"Hermione, Draco and I have a house elf. Her name is Stoppsy. She doesn't want to be free."

Hermione's face fell. "You actually participate--"

"Doesn't. Want. To. Be. Free. The first house elf you ever met was Dobby, and that's probably skewed your opinions a bit. They're mostly happy. If a house elf wants to be free, that's a sign that something is very, very seriously wrong. Maybe you should meet a few happy elves."

"I've met happy elves," Hermione said. "But I can't accept--"

"You can't accept the word of an entire people who keep telling you that it's offensive for you to try to free them."

Hermione turned slightly red. "You can't just act as though there's no problem!"

"I don't act as though there's no problem, Hermione! Draco and I treat Stoppsy well, but I know there are other people who think of themselves as owning the house elves, rather than caring for them. That's what you don't seem to get. Wizarding law doesn't need to be changed so it's illegal to have a house elf. That would just leave them all dispossessed and homeless."

"It would do no such thing!" Hermione snapped, leaning forward in her chair.

"Then I suppose you have a plan for where to integrate them into wizarding society? Or would you just unleash them on the Muggles?"

Hermione spluttered for a moment. Harry shrugged and stood up. "Maybe government isn't where you belong. You could try teaching instead."

"Harry," Hermione said, but he ignored her and left the cafe.

+----+

"That was quick," Draco said when Harry came in the front door. "I've got treacle tart," he added when Harry stormed into the kitchen. Harry took the little plate Draco offered without a word and started in on the dessert. "So how bad was the fight with Granger?"

Harry looked up at Draco, sighed, and then continued on with the tart.

"Well, it could be worse, I suppose," Draco said as though that was a valid reply. "You know, I had the worst day at work today." He patted his hands in the air as Harry shot him a look. "I know, I know, I don't need to work, but it kills time. You see, it's those bloody muggles. Well, Adrian in particular."

Harry grunted. 

"I know, me and blokes named Adrian. But honestly, he's just... I mean, the man can't hold a pose right to save his life."

Harry finished up his slice of tart and started in on the little scoop of ice cream Draco had put next to it.

Draco smiled. "Feeling better?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good," Draco said. "This is for you." He tossed a letter across the table. Harry opened it and let his head drop to the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"Professor McGonagall wants me to apply for a teaching position at Hogwarts. Defense Against the Dark Arts, for preference."

"So tell her to piss off," Draco said. "You're not teaching Defense until they've got that curse good and lifted."

"I'll send her my recommendation," Harry said.

+----+

Minerva stared at the little knot of people on the front steps of Hogwarts.

"You're all here to apply for the Defense position?"

Cedric Diggory stepped up. "Professor. I hope we're not too overwhelming. "I already counted. There's seven of us. Myself, Bill, Kingsley, Nymphadora, Sahara, Rufus, and... er.. Severus."

Minerva stared at the group assembled in front of her. "All right, come in." She watched as Severus Snape wheeled his way into the Entrance Hall. He still looked like a wreck of his former self, confined to a wheelchair, but she couldn't deny he had the talent it would take to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Good to see you're improved, Severus," she said.

"And to see you are well, Minerva," Snape said.

"We must have tea this evening," Minerva offered.

"I would prefer not to," Severus replied.

"Why not?"

Severus wheeled away. "It would be difficult. I have potions that I must take in the evenings. I can have them brought here, but not until the Defense position is mine."

Minerva hurried ahead of the group, passing Severus, and was somehow unsurprised to find Albus waiting for their gaggle of applicants. When he saw Severus bringing up the rear, he shook his head. "Go home, Severus. Your time will come, but you aren't strong enough yet."

Severus wheeled forward, and he spoke in low, heated tones with Albus while everyone else kept their distance. Finally, looking defeated, Severus left. 

"I expect these people are all here because of you, Minerva?" Albus called to her as she stepped up closer.

Minerva shook her head. "No. I sent a letter asking Harry to talk some sense into you--"

"And I imagine Harry sent our friends my way instead. Very well." He looked at the applicants and gestured. "Cedric, follow me. Everyone else, please wait with Minerva in the teachers' lounge. I'll see you all shortly."

Albus led Cedric Diggory off toward his office, and Minerva took the others to the teachers' lounge. Once they were there and settled in, the chatter started, and it wasn't long before Minerva had her confirmation that everyone present had been sent by Harry. Over the next couple of hours, applicants were filtered out. Cedric Diggory, Sahara Finnigan, and Rufus Scrimgeour left with dejected looks on their faces. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Bill Weasley, and Nymphadora Tonks went in for second interviews, and finally, Albus took some time alone to mull over his decision.

"You know, I was the one who put the boggart in here in eighty-three," Bill was saying amusedly when Albus opened up the door. "I've made my decision," he said. "Kingsley, you'll be pleased to know that you are my choice. Mister Weasley, I would like to speak privately with you, if you please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione refused to get along in this chapter. I was pretty amused by the argument, actually. Harry's spent long enough around Draco that he's learned how to argue well enough to flummox a Slytherin. Hermione isn't much of a challenge, especially when she's as wrong as she is about house elves.
> 
> I could see the whole scene with the treacle tart playing out in front of me as I wrote it. It was hilarious.
> 
> Sahara Finnigan is Seamus' mother. She is awesome, but she's not really DADA material. She just really wanted to help. Seamus will be proud of her for volunteering, but agree that it's for the best she didn't get the job.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got a new computer, and the touchscreen sorta ate the last attempt at an update (long story), but You guys need a new chapter or two before November begins and I switch to a different story.

By the fifth time Ronald Weasley chickened out, it had ceased to be funny. Draco eased the casement window open and called out, "It's a doorbell, Weasley. You push the button and there's a noise inside our house that tells us you're here."

Harry made a startled noise from where he was curled around Rita Skeeter's latest book--Draco had made her start writing fiction, and she was surprisingly good at it. "Oh, Merlin," Harry muttered. "It's not Hermione, is it?"

"It's not," Draco confirmed, then he called out the window "Well, are you going to ring it or not?"

"But you know I'm here!" came the objection from outside.

"But you can't neglect our poor doorbell," Draco said.

Harry took in the sight of his boyfriend. Draco had been relaxing with a bottle of wine, a plate of cheese, and a book about disgraced quidditch stars throughout the history of the sport. Normally, this behavior resulted in two glasses of wine making their way into a slightly-buzzed and therefore increasingly amorous Draco, a trip to the store to get some new cheese, and a change of the sheets up in the bedroom, but this time, Draco had poured a third glass and stopped reading while Harry wasn't looking. Instead of reading, Draco had been, for some time, apparently, looking out the window, amused by Weasley's discomfiture. 

Harry stood up as the doorbell gave a resigned sort of a ring. "Draco, honestly." 

"Well, it stopped being funny," Draco protested. Harry gave him a withering look, and Draco sighed, corked the wine, and set it aside. "Sorry."

Harry pulled open the front door and found Ron Weasley blushing fit to match the bright red banner of his hair.

"Hello, Weasley," he said. "I'd guess you're here to plead your wife's case."

"No, he just stopped 'round because she turned him gay like you," Draco called out from the window.

Harry pointed his wand and Draco's bottle of wine flew to his outstretched hand. "You'll have to excuse my boyfriend, he's a drunk."

"That's not fair," Draco called out, levering himself up from his chair and making his pointedly-graceful way to Harry's side. He pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek and wrapped a claiming arm around Harry's shoulder, draping it appealingly on Harry's chest. "I am taking my day to indulge myself this week, and I am tipsy. Now go away, Weasley."

Weasley stared. "Harry," He began, but Harry held up his hand to forestall him.

"Draco," Harry said, "I love you, but you are being immature."

Draco frowned. "I've miscalculated, haven't I?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco made no reply, just headed off towards the stairs. "Sorry about that," Harry said. "Come in."

"Thank you for hearing me out," Weasley began again, but Harry held up a hand to silence him again.

"We're not talking about Hermione's problems right now," he said.

Weasley spluttered to a halt. From upstairs, Draco's voice called out "I'll help you get rid of the body, but I'm having a shower first!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Kitchen," he said, leading Weasley around the corner. He looked at the bottle in his hand, shrugged, and got out two wineglasses, setting the whole lot of glass on the table. He pointed at one of the chairs around the kitchen table. It was a nice, light woodgrain set that Narcissa had gotten them as a housewarming gift. She'd tried to buy them a construction service to put an undetectable extensions charm on the house and add half a dozen rooms, but Harry had insisted on furniture instead. Naturally, she had found a way to make the place look larger and more open with furniture. Weasley took a seat, stiffly. Harry poured what was left of the wine into two glasses, eased into the chair across the table from Weasley, and said "How is your family? I hear something about the Twins starting up a shop?"

"Fred got married," Weasley answered, just as stiffly as he was sitting. Harry sipped from his glass, pushing the other one towards Weasley with obvious intent. Weasley glared at the glass. "If you're not going to talk about Hermione's--"

"For Merlin's sake, Ronald Bilius Weasley, drink!" Harry snapped. "It won't kill you to relax, and flatly telling me that I need to support Hermione won't do anything for her. Think like a Slytherin!"

Weasley's eyes bugged out a bit, but he slowly reached forward and took his glass. 

"So who did Fred Marry?" Harry asked.

+----+

"And by the time she got back from the house, Fred and George had traded off again, and Susan was snogging George like her life depended on it!"

Harry burst out laughing, too loud and wild. He leaned over the table to refill Weasley's glass, pouring a lot more rum in than the Coke he added could really justify. He glanced at the label, grinned at Weasley, and said, "D'you s'pose there ever really was a Griselda Gripling? I mean, they've got her name on the bottle, but she looks like someone's gran. I bet she hates being on the bottle if she really exists."

Draco sighed. This, he recalled, was how Harry had dealt with Vincent a year earlier. It didn't mean that it wasn't jarring for him to come downstairs after a long shower and a short nap to find his boyfriend swapping stories with Weasley in the kitchen. He crossed the kitchen and sat down. "Hello, Harry." He looked over at Weasley. "Having fun?"

"Hermione's going to kill me when I get home drunk," Weasley lamented.

"Draco," Harry said confessionally, "I may have underestimated how many drinks it takes for me to be friends with Ron."

Draco smiled. "You get to apologize for calling me a drunk," he said.

"Should I apologize orally or anally?"

Weasley made a choking noise.

Draco smirked. "I'll go spin this for your wife, Weasley." He stood up, pausing on his way out of the kitchen. "Anally, by the way, Harry."

+----+

"You know, I still think Malfoy's a prick," Ron informed Harry as they sat on the couch in the front room. Draco had gone out to pick up some groceries.

"I still think you're a prick," Harry replied. "But I guess we're not really here to make friends with each other." He leaned back, letting his head flop against the back of the couch. "You're here to plead Hermione's case. But the thing is... Her case is sort of stupid. She's got too focused."

There was a long silence. Finally, Ron managed to sort through what Harry had said. He wasn't so drunk as he had been an hour before, but he was certainly still a lot less than sober. He could imagine that Harry was about as impaired as he was. "She said you just rejected her because you like having a house-elf too much."

"Stoppsy," Harry called, and a house-elf appeared with a loud crack.

"How can Stoppsy be helping Master Harry Sir?" she said.

"Are you happy?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Master Harry, Sir," Stoppsy said. She had a pointed noise, quivering with excitement or energy, and a lot of puffy white hair tied back by a string so it was out of her face. She wore a blue pillowcase with a lot of fancy embroidery around the seams, and the letters "PM" sewn where the lapel would be if it was a suit jacket.

"Did you read those papers I gave you?"

"Of course, Master Harry Sir!" she cried, unmistakably scandalized.

"Excellent," Harry said. "What did you think?"

"Stoppsy is thinking that Mrs. Hermione Weasley is not knowing much about house elves, Master Harry Sir."

"And why is that?" Harry prompted.

"Because of Chapter Three, Master Harry Sir," she said. "Mrs. Hermione Weasley is saying that if a master is bad for a house elf, the house elf should be taken away!"

"I didn't ask her about this until after I talked to Hermione," Harry said to Ron. "What would you suggest instead of that," he added in the general direction of the house elf.

"A house elf should always have a master," she said. If the master is being bad for the house elf, the house elf should be getting a new master."

Ron thought that over for a moment, but Harry wasn't done. 

"What would happen if all the house elves were free?"

"Terrible things, Master Harry Sir!" Stoppsy cried. "House elves would be having no place to go!"

"Thank you Stoppsy," Harry said. "That's all." The elf vanished with a crack. Harry turned to look at Ron again. "That's the problem. She still wants to free them all, but Draco and I aren't enslaving Stoppsy. Most people are really very kind to their house elves. I sort of suspect that at this point it's a... a... we both sort of need each other. I mean, Dobby still works at Hogwarts, and Winky is a lot happier now Narcissa's hired her on. Doesn't wear that awful little dress anymore. Maybe Hermione ought to look into the house elves more before she goes and starts making laws without asking them. Maybe get them the right to... to... I don't know, to vote."

Ron stared over at Harry, and he sighed. "I'll tell her."

"You should get a house elf. That would help."

"That's never going to happen," Ron said. "But... You should bring Stoppsy 'round sometime. Might help a bit."

"Right," Harry said. After a moment, he added, "I feel sort of shitty. Ought to drink more."

"Bad idea," Ron said. "When's your man-wife getting back? I need him to take me home."

"He's my boyfriend, not my 'man-wife,' Harry shot back snappishly. "And just be patient. He won't be long. He's still got an anal apology to accept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still getting used to the new keyboard. Pretty sure there's only one "r" in "boyfriend"...
> 
> I still don't know where in the heck Harry and Draco live. the layout is sort of like a double-wide version of a townhouse I lived in once.
> 
> Harry got the tendency to be flippant and crass from Seamus, mostly. That "orally or anally" comment has Seamus Finnigan written all over it.
> 
> It's hard to actually justify the house elves. They're basically an entire species that's been brainwashed. Unless you assume that it's some sort of magical symbiosis or that being in servitude to wizards prevents them from becoming horrifying magical monsters in some way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming. I've been dealing with some pretty severe depression, by which I mostly mean that I've been sitting around the house not doing much besides getting drunk from time to time, which is a bad place to be. I'm trying to work on happy things, which means this gets a little more work from me.

Albus Dumbledore stood silent at the edge of what had once been a small cottage. A single grimy pane remained in just one window, the glass long gone from most of the house. Two outside walls were completely collapsed, and a fire had ravaged the place long ago, but a solid oak table stood firm in the middle of the one remaining room. On the table was a small object, gleaming incongruously in the filtered rays of sunlight that crept through the roof.

Sirius had given him a lengthy lecture on the need for caution, and Albus was, therefore, very careful about sweeping the artifact off of the table. The ring of Marvolo Gaunt looked exactly as it had in the memory Albus had collected from the positively ancient muggle woman who had met the man once. He pulled a duplicate of the ring from his pocket and dropped it with a clack onto the table, frowning as he adjusted its position.

A long time ago, he would have ignored the tugs of memory associated with the thing. Now, he took it back to Grimmauld Place, where, if he was correct in his guess, one such object had already resided, and left it on his little worktable. Sirius was in the front room, having one of his silent conversations with Fawkes.

"I'll return this evening," Albus said.

Sirius looked up from the phoenix even as Fawkes came to his master's outstretched arm.

"Was it there?"

"It was," Albus confirmed with a sigh. "His wards were... surprisingly light. I suspect he was relying upon anonymity."

Sirius stood up and planted a kiss on Albus' cheek. "You've left your wand?"

"It is in your care," Albus confirmed.

Sirius glanced over at Albus' worktable. The long wand sat beside the ring, respectfully far from touching it. Albus, of course, was going to go wandless. Sirius watched him for a moment more, and then Fawkes' fire enveloped him. Travelling by phoenix was a strange sensation. Albus was perfectly aware of exactly how far he was going, that he was one of the only men in the world who could go there with impunity.

When the flames left Albus behind, he sighed. The walls were cold, bare stone. He knew there had once been hangings, tapestries and paintings, concealing the dripping things, but they had long since gone. There was little furniture, most of what had been there destroyed in fits of unrestrained magic. He heard the reports, from time to time, and knew, therefore, where to go. Albus waved gamely to a man rushing to the door to look after what had made the noise. "Go back to your work," he said in fluent Dutch. The surprised guard blinked and vanished. The phoenix riding Albus' shoulder was identification enough. Albus opened the door of the smallest room and stared at the frail wisp of a man that was sitting there by the remains of an inadequate meal.

"I thought I would never see you again," Gellert Grindelwald said.

"That was my intention," Albus said.

"Why?" Grindelwald asked.

"Because I loved you. With all my heart, and for many years after I should have come to despise you, I wanted to teach you with love that you need not be so broken."

Gellert stared at the floor. One bare foot, more bones than flesh, scraped an empty plate across the floor.

"They had a muggle in here. Ten years ago. He said I was a sociopath. Said I can't love." Gellert shrugged. "He's the last person I wanted to kill. I never wanted to kill you, Albus. Not even when I was trying to. I didn't know you were a poofter."

Albus watched Gellert grimly across the six or seven feet between them. He was silent, still.

"They keep saying I'm showing remorse. They don't like having The Monster in here. It's easier if I'm a sad old man than if this frail old thing is the worst thing history's ever thrown at their grandparents."

"Do you feel remorse?" Albus asked.

"You don't know what a sociopath is, do you, Albus? I don't feel remorse. No use for it." Gellert paused, thoughtfully. "Are you happy?"

"I wasn't, for a very long time," Albus admitted. "Someone helped me to become happy again."

There was a long silence. "Why are you here?" Gellert asked.

Albus shook his head. "I have held all three of them. But one was... corrupted. It was turned into... into a horcrux."

Gellert blinked. "Interesting. Tell me more. You obviously want my knowledge..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more updates coming more frequently from now on, to this and my other major work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, people who enjoy this fic!

The new school year brought, as always, new challenges. For Minerva, it was almost comforting to spot the troublemakers among the first years. They were easy enough. A pair of twins in Hufflepuff, a girl in Slytherin who seemed determined to be as eccentric as possible, a Gryffindor who carried the idea of adventure further than it should be allowed to go. 

The hard part, this year, was going to be having a former auror on staff. Kingsley had a penetrating way of looking at the students that made Minerva hesitate to leave him unsuervised. She could remember him in his school days, strutting around with a Head Boy badge gleaming on his Ravenclaw robes, enforcing the rules until she wanted to scream because he had finally found exactly how much was too much obedience. He had, at least, mellowed since then, and she had heard he had even told off the Minister for Magic when the old toad tried to get him to "act for the Ministry" at Hogwarts. That didn't mean that all the students weren't going to be half-convinced he was ready to hex them the instant they did something as minor as chewing gum. He was dark, broad-shouldered, stern-faced, and about as tall as the whomping willow, and none of that was likely to comfort the students.

Minerva watched the new Defense professor chivvying his first class into the classroom and sighed.

"Is something wrong, Minerva?"

She jumped half out of her skin and whirled. Nearly anyone else on the planet would have had her wand half-drawn by the time she was facing him, but she was too familiar with Albus' voice to even begin to draw on him. "Not precisely, Albus," she said once her heart had settled back into a normal rhythm. "I was only hoping that Kingsley would settle in all right. Some of the younger students still remember Alastor, you know."

Albus shrugged. "Most of them were more frightened of Sirius than of Alastor," he pointed out. "And they got used to both of them."

"When they started to notice that Sirius followed you around like a lost puppy," she began, and Albus chuckled.

+----+

Dolores Umbridge was inspecting a jewelry box when Hermione stepped into her office. She smiled, looked up, and closed it rather grandiosely. "Do you know, Missus Weasley, why you are here?"

Hermione frowned. "Of course, Madam Minister."

Umbridge smiled like a honeyed acid pop and slid a thick stack of paper across her desk at Hermione. "I wonder if you would do me the service of not allowing your house elf to write legislation for you."

"I don't have a house elf," Hermione said. "I don't--"

"Well, someone's house elf clearly wrote this tripe. A representative on the wizengamot--"

"To the wizengamot, Madam Minister," Hermione corrected, but Umbridge bulled on.

"The right to vote on referenda regarding nonhuman creatures... _self governance?"_ This last she spoke as though it were some strange sexual perversion. "None of this will ascend to the wizengamot, of course, since you would be dismissed immediately as a crackpot if they heard of it." Her sick little smile widened. "You may consider that my favor to you. Of course, you must understand that these things cannot be spoken of publicly, either. It would be a terrible blow to your career, of course."

The message was fairly easy to interpret.

+----+

_"It ain't propaganda  
'til it tells you what to think,  
and it ain't set in stone, love,  
'til it's written down in ink."_

The music throbbed into Harry's temples. He was, quite possibly, not in the mood for a concert, but Seamus was playing, which meant that Dean didn't want to be alone at the concert, which meant that Draco went along, which meant that Harry went along as well, and they sat closer to the stage than Harry wanted so that Seamus could see them. He was doing something very intimate to his microphone that put Harry in mind of private moments the four of them had shared in seventh year at Hogwarts, when the stress of upcoming N.E.W.T.s got to be too much. Admittedly, Seamus had never, to Harry's knowledge, shouted melodically about falling in love with a fuck buddy into anyone's penis, but then it was _Seamus,_ and so he couldn't really rule it out, either.

There was a tug on Harry's sleeve, and he looked down to see what was either a very large dandelion puff or Stoppsy. He leaned down to listen to whatever message she had, catching Draco out of the corner of his eye as he turned to look at what Harry was doing.

"Master Harry, Stoppsy is sorry she is interrupting you, but Hermione Weasley is being on the front steps. She is being very sad, sir."

Harry blinked. He sighed. It was, however, a way to leave. He stood up and kissed Draco on the cheek. "I have to go, lover. We have a visitor, apparently. Hermione seems to be on the front steps in a tizzy."

Draco nodded. "I'll tell Seamus you're very sorry you had to leave," he said. "I won't even mention the headache."

Harry winced, but then, he knew Draco could tell about these sorts of things. He gave Seamus an apologetic wave as he walked out to where he could apparate without disturbing anyone. His vanishing cut off Seamus' song in mid-verse. "There's a fee that I levy, every time you make me--"

Harry opened up the front door. Hermione was just turning to leave, having apparently decided that Harry and Draco weren't home after all.

"Hermione," Harry said, leaning against the doorjamb.

She turned around, and there were tears in her eyes.

+----+

"If the Former Granger was at our door, it has to have been something important," Draco said by way of explanation. "I would imagine she realized how awful her hair is or something."

Dean smacked him on the back of the head. "Draco, honestly. Play nice. She's perfectly delightful once you get to know her."

"Bloody awful hair, though," Seamus commented, peeling off his bright red trousers. Draco happened to know that Seamus hated wearing the things, but, as his bandmates would have said, they sold the music. Not that Draco complained about Seamus wearing them. He and Harry both got to watch Seamus peel them off if they were there after a concert. 

"Seamus!" Dean cried. 

"It's true," Seamus said. "She looked a bit of all right one time when we were bloody fourteen, and for about thirty minutes at her wedding, and the rest of the time it's like there's meadowlarks nesting on her head. At least Harry keeps his all short and sexy."

"I'd say I'm not comfortable with you talking about how sexy my boyfriend is," Draco point out, "but I'd feel a bit of a tit doing it while I'm ogling your arse. Nice boxers."

"Thanks," Seamus said, taking a pair of corduroys from Dean's outstretched hand. "So, any idea what's really wrong with Hermione?"

"At a guess, her legislation's gone belly up. Can't see how, I mean, everyone loves handing off new rights to the help so much."

Dean shook his head. "She'll be in the cafe tomorrow, trying to drown her sorrows in coffee. Probably won't even look at my foam-willies."

"I still can't believe the manager's never noticed you doing that," Seamus grunted as he pulled his trousers on over the arse-emphasizing pattern on his boxers.

"Well, I'm sneaky," Dean said. He looked at Draco. "Heading off, then?"

Draco nodded and grabbed his coat. "I ought to go see what Harry's done to comfort or scold Weasley, as the situation may have required." He threw his jacket over his shoulder and pulled Dean into a one armed hug. 

Dean and Seamus both pressed affectionate little pecks to his cheeks. "You make sure to pass those on to Harry," Seamus said.

"Naturally," Draco replied, and he apparated to the front room. Harry was looking through a tick stack of paper. Draco sighed.

"Oh, hello," Harry said.

"You agreed to speak up for her, didn't you?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. 

Draco tossed his coat onto the recliner in the corner. "Right. When this all blows up in your face, remind me to be smug, will you." He kissed Harry on the cheek twice. "From Dean and Seamus," he explained, then he picked up the papers and set them aside, crawling into Harry's lap. He kissed Harry much more thoroughly on the lips. "That's from me," he said. He trailed kisses down Harry's jaw and neck, and Harry responded eagerly in turn, and they had to clean some questionable fluids off of the papers Harry had been reading after they were done, because they never did make it up to the bedroom that night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! Have a sex scene!

Dean Thomas had a few interesting quirks. Most amusing of these, Seamus thought when he walked in on his boyfriend playing around on his gameboy, was his tendency to move with whatever video game he was playing, bobbing and weaving side to side regardless of whether the game was even a particularly active one. "Noooo, Draco, don't faint!" he cried as the game made some sort of bizarre screeching sound. "Now Harry will be sad," Dean said.

Seamus sat down next to Dean and peered over his shoulder. "You only ever complain about that pokeymen game of yours," he pointed out, "and then you insist that when they make a new one, you're definitely going to buy it."

"Haven't got anything better to do with my money," Dean pointed out, ducking to the side as though it would help his little monster avoid getting burnt to a crisp by what appeared to be a dragon. "No, Harry, not you, too! Why is Red such a buttface?"

Seamus shrugged. "I pay rent for us, and then you squander the extra money from your job on games instead of buying me fancy dinners." He held the Daily Prophet up under Dean's game. Dean set the game down, aimed his wand at it, and nodded in satisfaction as it stopped moving. Seamus rather suspected that repeated use of freezing charms instead of pausing voided the warranty, but then, it was just a game.

"What's... oh. I suppose Harry's going into politics next?"

"Potter Speaks on House Elf Rights" was blazoned across the top of the newspaper, not far from an article that seemed to be saying some decidedly rude things about Albus Dumbledore.

"Harry's got to have something to do," Seamus reasoned. "When he's jobless for more than a month, Draco starts looking so stressed that Lucy offers him a cigarette on instinct every time she sees him."

Dean chuckled, more at the image of Draco smoking than anything else. "I bet he smokes like a Frenchman."

"I bet he smokes like he's giving the cigarette a blowjob." Seamus shook his head. "Harry in politics, though? That's a disaster. It's probably only to help out Hermione."

Dean sighed. "Merlin help us all if they get to be friends again over this."

+----+

"You know, Harry," Draco drawled, "for a moment, I thought we might be in danger of repeated visits from various Weasleys, instead of just those two that I sort of like." He looked at the letter on the table. "I'm glad we aren't."

"Have you told our pet reporter that I hate her lately?" Harry asked. Draco grinned and kissed Harry gently. How Harry managed to look as good as he did while clearly trying not to tear his hair out over Hermione Weasley's fickleness was beyond comprehension, possibly one of those things Man was not meant to know, a Great Mystery of the Cosmos, but the fact remained that he was sitting there, unshowered, smelling bad, and irritable, with bags under his eyes because an owl had woken them at seven in the morning, and there wasn't a lot of sleeping done the night before, and...

"You are dead sexy," Draco said.

"I am dead tired," Harry informed him. "She really had to scold me over the article first thing in the morning?"

"I'll tell Rita to fall in a hole for you," Draco promised. "But right now, I'm going to make sure that you and your supermodel boyfriend look good when the photographers track us down in Diagon Alley."

"You are not a supermodel," Harry replied petulantly. He let his head slump to the table. "And I had forgotten about Sirius and Dumbledore."

Draco dragged Harry by the arm away from the kitchen table and up the stairs to the bathroom. "Come on," he insisted. "I'm getting you cleaned up."

Harry was still bleary for a few seconds after Draco started tugging at his shirt, but he complied. When Draco leaned over to turn on the shower, it must have finally occurred to him that he was about to be dragged into the shower by his boyfriend, and the rest of his clothes came off faster and with a great deal more enthusiasm.

Draco smirked when he turned around and found Harry already stripped down. "Worked it out, then?" He walked over, pulled Harry close to him, and kissed him deeply. 

"Let's get showered," Harry suggested. Draco stripped off and followed him, and Harry dropped to his knees under the spray of the shower. He said something, but Draco couldn't hear it over the water, and as Harry leaned forward to take him into his mouth, he decided it really didn't matter. Harry bobbed his head up and down, and shower sex might not have been Draco's favorite form of sex (that was reserved for the time they had snuck into the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts with some gillyweed and copy of the Kama Sutra), it was still _a_ form of sex, so he was definitely more than all right with it.

Harry was going to bring him off pretty quickly if he kept going like that, and Draco didn't want that, so he lifted him up and off of his penis. Harry made a face that would have been adorable, stemming as it did from being thwarted in his desire to keep sucking, if it hadn't been so charged with sexuality. Draco pinned him against the wall, reached out to bump the water a little more towards warm with his heel, and kissed the sense out of his boyfriend. "You are going to fuck my brains out," Draco hissed in Harry's ear.

Harry seemed to be more fully awake now, and he ground against Draco, then turned him around, got him up against the wall, and grabbed for the bottle of lube they kept in the shower. There was a reason guests showered downstairs. Harry slicked himself up and made a slow, teasing entrance into Draco that was probably about equal parts finger and penis, and he started moving his hips. Draco sighed and let himself melt against the wall.

As Harry thrust into him, Draco gasped and reached down to stroke himself. His breath grew ragged and sharp, and as he released against the wall, calling out Harry's name, he sagged. He could feel, a little distantly, Harry leaning against him, crying out as well, and he turned for a kiss.

"See," Draco managed. "We need to get cleaned up."

He still felt utterly relaxed three hours later when they were sitting down in the Leaky Cauldron. He'd been right about the photographers. Every time Harry wound up in the news, there was a brief fad of chasing him down for pictures and trying, fruitlessly, to interview him. 

"Cum on the wall," Draco whispered cheerily into Harry's ear, and quietly awarded himself permission to order dessert for getting Harry to actually turn _magenta._

"Not fair," Harry whispered back. 

"Lots of fun, though," Draco said.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron opened up, and Albus Dumbledore walked in, with Sirius Black trailing behind him.

They both looked a little grim. "Uh oh," Draco said.

Dumbledore sat down. "Good morning, Harry. Draco."

"Is there a reason you look like someone just told you you have to trim your beard?" Draco asked. Sirius snickered, and Dumbledore waved his hand to pull out a chair for him.

"It would seem your preferred reporter has failed you," Dumbledore said, and it wasn't quite clear whether or not he was answering Draco's question.

"She was trying to hedge her bets," Draco explained. "It was a natural reaction. We'll explain it to her. We would've sent an owl this morning, but we were distracted."

"I'm sure," Sirius said with a licentious little grin.

Harry tried to shrink into his seat a little bit. "Can we not use so much innuendo with my godfather and my mentor?"

"That wouldn't make you turn red at all," Draco objected. He turned a shrewd look on Dumbledore. "So, Professor, anything else got you feeling unhappy?"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "I believe I have learned how he survived his death. And I am fairly sure that it directly affects you, Harry. I would like you to find an occlumency trainer. If you would agree to work with Severus..."

Harry took a deep breath. "Professor, you know how that worked out the last time we tried it."

"I know," Dumbledore said, "but I believe Severus will be the best instructor you can find. Please, Harry, this is important."

"If he says it's important, Harry," Sirius began, and Harry sighed.

"I'll go and see him."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "I'll make sure you know everything you need to as soon as you make enough progress in your lessons."

"This is going to suck," Harry lamented.

Draco rubbed his back. "It won't suck. It will just be as awkward as Severus always is. But for longer. Okay. It might suck a little."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for that opening scene was originally to just write a separate thing about Harry playing Pokemon. I may still do that.
> 
> It came about because I have really weird conversations with my roommate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeeee!

It had been a damnably long time since Severus had entertained his last visitor. A certain amount of that was his fault. He made no effort to dispel the aura of gloomy unapproachability that he exuded, and others caught onto it. Some of his solitude, however, could be attributed to the fact that there are very few cripples in the wizarding world. As a man confined permanently to a wheelchair, Severus Snape was part of a very small group of people that magic could not fix, and other members of the magical community felt uncomfortable around him. They didn't know how to react to something as rare as a debilitating injury that couldn't be remedied with a wand, a potion, or, at most, a lengthy submersion in a rune-lined pool of unicorn blood (though, to be fair, Severus had not actually tried the unicorn blood, as it was something of an extreme solution, and most likely to worsen his overall condition after restoring his complexion, hair, and ability to walk), and so they chose not to react at all by avoiding him.

When Harry Potter chose to visit him, Severus was briefly terrified that the Boy Who Lived had decided to become a healer, and to take Severus as his first patient. Given that this was a recurring nightmare of his, he felt it prudent to ask if that was what Potter had done.

"No, Severus," Harry said when Snape asked him if he was there to help with his treatments. "I'm here for... er... occlumency lessons."

Severus sighed. "What makes you think, Harry, that your lessons will go any better this time?"

"I'm not fifteen."

Severus gave Harry a defeated look and finally let him into the house.

Harry hadn't actually been in Severus' home before, and he was a little surprised by the sheer size of his old professor's book collection. The sitting room was lined with books, leatherbound and dark-colored, and a small pile of them sat on a table next to an ashtray. The scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, and Harry frowned disapprovingly. His aunt had frequently remarked that smoking was a filthy habit, but Harry cared more about the fact that it was potentially dangerous. "Severus, are you sure you should be smoking?"

Severus cast a brief glance at him. "My lungs are probably the one part of me that's undamaged. The healers spent three months repairing and replacing them. I intend to drop the habit in two years. As I can no longer downgrade students' papers, I relieve stress however I can."

Harry looked around nervously for a little while. There was a chairlift on the narrow stairs leading up to the second floor, and a great deal of clutter and signs of permanent, somewhat hermitlike habitation. Severus obviously spent a great deal of time in this room, which had ruts in the carpet from his wheelchair, a deteriorated recliner in the corner, dirty, smoke-blurred windows, and delivery containers strew across the table. Harry sighed. "Stoppsy!"

Snape didn't jump, but he did cast Harry an irritated look as Harry's house-elf appeared in the center of the room. "Stoppsy is here, sir!"

Harry smiled fondly down at her. "Stoppsy, I'd like you to come here once a week to help keep the place clean."

Stoppsy frowned. "Stoppsy will have her hands full, sir."

"Just leave warning with us when you're taking a day here. I doubt Severus will bother you much, but he's not to refuse your help."

Stoppsy nodded. "Yes sir. Stoppsy will see to it, sir," she squeaked. 

"Without asking me, Harry?" Severus said archly.

Harry shrugged. "You have your pride, sir, and I have my... my penchant for coming to the rescue."

"Stoppsy has work to be doing at home, sir," Stoppsy prompted.

Harry nodded. "Go on, then, Stoppsy. So, Severus, shall we get started?"

+----+

Sirius frowned at Albus across the length of their quarters nearby the Headmaster's office. Once again, Albus was glaring at the ring he had retrieved from the shack in Little Hangleton. He looked almost like a petulant child with an enormous beard, his chin perched on the corner of the table the ring sat on and his arms resting to either side of his head. Sirius put down the latest issue of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle, standing up to brush a hand across Albus' back.

"Come to bed, Albus. You're not liable to make any progress just staring at the thing."

Albus tore his gaze away from the ring. "Do you know, Sirius, I truly wish I could consult Harry on this matter." He eased himself more fully upright, then slowly stood, with a few creaks and pops of old joints protesting such long sessions sitting in one place. Sometimes, Sirius swore that Albus could control how much noise he made standing up and deliberately matched it to how old he felt on any given occasion. "His knowledge is not extensive, but it is unusual. If I could only be assured of a way to destroy it."

"The sword should work, Albus."

Albus followed Sirius to the bedroom, pulling his varicolored pajamas from the hook on the door as he went, and began, methodically, to change. Sirius had spent most of the day already in his pajamas, and simply flopped onto the bed. "I have no doubt that the sword will do the job effectively, but it is the question of if it will do it correctly that is holding me up," Albus admitted as he adjusted his long cotton shirt. "Considering the strange behavior of Tom Riddle's diary when it was destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets, I suspect that there are ways I could confirm the ring is, in fact, a horcrux, but I wish that I had basilisk venom with which to accomplish the task."

Sirius watched the shadows on the ceiling in silence for a moment before replying "why not simply enter the Chamber of Secrets? Harry and Draco both tell me that the basilisk is probably still relatively intact."

Albus shook his head. "If I had found the ring earlier, perhaps. Basilisk venom lasts a long time. But it has been too long. It has been almost a year since the poison would have been destructive enough to ensure the horcrux was truly done away with." He climbed into bed, and Sirius wrapped his arms around him.

"You'll figure it out, Albus. You always do."

+----+

Harry was rubbing at the bridge of his nose when he came home after his third lesson with Severus. Draco just handed him a cup of tea with a headache potion in it and waited until Harry had breathed his third sigh of relief before he spoke.

"I quit the modeling job," he began. "Had a bit of a row with Adrian. Ornery bastard that he is."

Harry blinked. "But you actually liked modeling. They paid you to look good."

"Much as I enjoy how scandalized my father would have been to learn of his son peddling cheap handbags to muggles, I think I maybe ought to try for a wizarding career," Draco mused. "Maybe there's a wizarding modeling agency somewhere." He leaned on Harry. "Anyway, after the row and the quitting, I came home and got Stoppsy to make cookies, because I can. How was your day?"

"I managed to clear my mind a bit," Harry said. "I mean, like, really clear it out. Severus actually almost smiled. Might have just been because Stoppsy got his windows clean last week, though."

"Have you convinced him to stop smoking yet?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. "Every time I try, he gets cross with me. You could give it a shot."

Draco grinned. "Maybe I will." He kissed Harry gently. "I think it's your turn to get a completely mad job next. Fancy joining Seamus' band?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Harry to mention his saving people thing when Snape asked him about sending Stoppsy to help clean the place up, but I looked it up to be sure and it's a book five quote, so it never got said to Harry in this universe. More's the pity...
> 
> Sirius and Dumbledore make an oddly adorable couple. 
> 
> I think I've figured out what my next big project is. It involves a different prophecy, Harry being something of a prick, and Neville as one half of at least one pairing. Should be fun.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... busy.... must... write... chapter... in... between... DMing... campaign...

"I'm impressed, I think." Harry felt that the second bit was really important. When one is unsure of whether or not one is impressed, one generally does well to tell others so that they don't get the wrong impression. 

Hermione blew out a gusty sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have asked to meet you so close to their shop," she complained.

Across the street, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes continued to sparkle and blink, an obnoxious third participant in every conversation.

"Still can't believe they had the gall to name a constipation prank after Voldemort," Harry managed with a certain degree of mirth. He sipped his Crater Lake (it had taken ages to explain to the bartender that he wanted pumpkin juice in "a perfectly good martini," until Hermione had finally huffed "for Merlin's sake, he's dating the gayest bloke I've ever met, he's bound to've picked up a few things" and the bartender had poured the drink with the air of a man sadly desecrating his own mother's grave) and tore his eyes away from the eyeball-vibrating brightness of the twins' storefront. "So, Umbridge shot you down that badly, and now Skeeter thinks she's managing my reputation. Honestly, Hermione, I'm not sure what I can do for you that I haven't already done."

"Speak publicly," Hermione implored. "If you just address everyone at once--"

"They'll not be impressed." Harry ran his finger along the rim of his martini glass, missing the soft ringing of the wineglasses at home. "I've been practically a hermit for the last few years. The big story would be 'holy hell, Potter's in public,' not 'Potter is in favor of better rights for House Elves.' It's one thing to write letters, but it's another to get up on a soapbox."

Hermione chuckled. "I haven't heard that expression in years."

Harry drained the last of his drink. "I've got Draco saying it."

"Are you going to work up to it?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked across the street again at the flashing displays. "I think I've got a better idea."

+----+

George elbowed Fred, who in turn elbowed George, but of course also turned around because he _knew_ being elbowed meant that something unusual was going on.

"Morgan le Fay and all her extra nipples, George, is that..."

"By Merlin's sweaty pants, it is, Fred!"

Fred looked so convincingly about to swoon that there was no way that he was actually about to swoon. "The Vanquisher of Voldemort!" He cried.

George took up the cry. "The Hero of Hogwarts!"

"The Dispenser of Doom to Doers of Dark Deeds!" Fred called, rushing across the shop to a very taken-aback Harry Potter.

George pelted after his twin. "The Mighty Master of Magic Most Magnificent, Magnanimous Marvel Among Men Magical and Mundane!"

"Harry!"

"How've you been, you little twitling?"

Harry blinked a couple of times. He shook his head, let out a little laugh, and made an effort to realign himself to the peculiar mode of thinking required in order to deal with the twins. At his back, Hermione poked him, and Harry steeled himself visibly. "I'm fine. Actually, i was hoping I could get some help from you, seeing as you're up-and-coming community leaders now."

"We won't help if you keep insulting us like that," George said seriously.

"But I can take you in back and we'll talk it over--"

"Which I'm sure you're used to hearing."

Harry groaned unhappily. "I'm off to the lions' den, Hermione. You owe me," he admonished as Fred dragged him off to an office behind the counter.

In comparison to the cheery disarray of the actual store, the twins' office was relatively somber. Probably mourning the death of whatever filing system they might have started out with. Where the outside was plastered with red and blue and green and yellow and orange and pink and several colors that probably didn't actually exist, the office had all the variation of a London snowbank: white with inky black speckles on a warm brown background. 

Fred closed the door. "I can speak for both of us. Someone's got to mind the shop."

"How long has it been since you opened up?" Harry asked.

"About a year," Fred asked. He gestured at the pile of paper on the desk pressed up against the wall. "It's not that bad. Those are just the mail orders for today so far. What do you want, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I want you to start making noise about Hermione's House Elf rights campaign. I tried to start the... you know the public dialogue, as Draco would say, but..."

Fred thought that over for a moment, and then he smiled. "If we start it, then you join in... You realize this is a risk, right?"

Harry nodded. "I know."

"You're not calling in the investment favor, are you?" Fred asked.

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not _that_ Slytherin. If I call it a favor, it's a favor. I was thinking I could find a way to repay you. Maybe I could do some work for you?"

Fred leaned forward, smiling. "We've heard that our little brother says your beau does modeling work."

"Uh oh," Harry said.

Fred's smile got a little broader.

+----+

"Found you a wizarding modeling agency," Harry said, collapsing onto the couch in the front room.

Draco poked his head in from the kitchen. "Why do you sound annoyed about that?"

"It's Fred Weasley's wife with a camera," Harry confessed.

Draco dropped something in the kitchen with a loud clanging sound.

"What have you signed me up for?"

"Nothing," Harry protested. "Could you come in here and talk to me for a minute, though?"

After a minute, Draco sat down with Harry.

"All right," Harry said. "So, a lot of people still sort of think you're dosing me with love potions. They certainly think you're kind of awful and blood-purist, just... not as much as your dad... you know..."

"Was," Draco prompted. Harry looked down at the floor.

"So, The Twins figured that if you started showing up on some of the boxes for their products, which they say need a lot more people on them looking like they're enjoying the things than just Fred, George, and Susan, you could release your own statement about House-Elf rights, which would start a lot of people talking because of how you're perceived. Your own reputation would probably improve if you started talking about it and then Hermione came out and said that she agrees with you. And then I would start talking."

Draco stared at the hearth as though he was waiting for it to provide its own opinion on the matter. Finally he said "How were those two not in Slytherin?"

"I asked them that once. They said they wanted to, but the Hat told them something about not knowingly creating real-life magical versions of The Joker from Batman and then shouted 'Gryffindor' before they could ask any more questions. Must have picked up on Batman from muggleborns. Or The Twins just cause chaos no matter what."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I in no way support Hermione's assessment of the drink choices of gay men. I am the gayest guy I know, and I prefer strong whiskey sours, straight shots of whiskey, whiskey on the rocks... I think the most stereotypically gay thing I do with alcohol is to put it in tea. Although, there is a shot called a "blowjob" that I want to try specifically because it makes you fellate the shot glass, which sounds fun...  
> Just... good luck ordering one at a bar.
> 
> I'd feel shame for that joke about "take you in back and we'll talk it over" if I weren't so proud of it.
> 
> It was pointed out to me recently that I have forgotten to give due credit: Draco's job at a modeling agency is inspired in part by the excellent fic "A Thousand Beautiful Things" posted in 2004 by Geoviki. It's a truly excellent piece of writing, which I thoroughly recommend. Harry/Draco done right, as opposed to merely done well, which is the usual standard I hold it to (ironic that my second-biggest project so far is a pairing I don't particularly like)
> 
> I get the feeling that in the intervening four years between this fic and the last, Harry has probably pissed off Draco more than Draco has pissed off Harry. Hence, "What have you signed me up for?"
> 
> That is not my specific headcanon of what happened when The Twins were sorted, but only because it is too specific. My headcanon is more along the lines of the Sorting Hat reacting with horror and then putting them where the rest of their family would keep them from going completely out of control.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time, hasn't it? I'm still here, just... really busy lately.

"I begin to think that this was a bad idea," Draco said stiffly as Susan Weasley (nee Lillencamp; she always felt it was necessary to point out that not everyone married old school acquaintances) aimed her camera at him and urged him with enthusiastic and somewhat unsettling gestures to smile.

"Nonsense," she said in her bright, chipper, relentlessly American accent. "We're having fun!"

She emphasized the word "fun" enough that Draco was almost certain before she finished speaking that it would end with a very specific fricative rather than being innocuous and not about fornication at all. She also clearly made "we're having fun" into a command. Draco was beginning to see what had attracted the Weasley twins to this girl in the first place. Most likely, she had seen them, said "we're having fun" in precisely those tones, and they had been too frightened to disagree. He smiled, holding up his bit of prank-shop merchandise. She snapped her next picture. 

"That's enough for the posters out front, I think," Susan said. Draco put down the daydream-in-a-bottle and stepped carefully away from it. It only ever took one encounter with a leaky one to learn caution. He sighed when Susan handed him a trick wand.

"You simply have to humiliate me, don't you?" Draco said.

She smiled. "Give it a wave. And smile, won't you?"

Draco thought this over for a moment, then said, smugly, "so do the twins have a go at you together once a week, or daily?"

Susan turned a really excellent shade of red, and Draco smiled. She recovered enough to snap the picture just as he waved the trick wand and gave it a believable look of delight when it turned into a slightly-wilted tulip. 

+----+

Albus Dumbledore knew one hundred and seven spells to detect curses, hexes, jinxes, and particularly rude charms. He could find very nearly any poison that might be smeared onto an object.

So far, the ring of Marvolo Gaunt had failed to register as trapped in any way.

Sirius was still urging an amount of caution that would likely have ruffled the feathers of Paraskevi The Paranoid.

Albus swept into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library and began searching for a book about protection against the Dark Arts that he hadn't yet read.

+----+

"I didn't think we would be able to get along," Draco confessed to Harry when he flopped onto the couch that evening, "but actually, I sort of like her."

"Is the feeling mutual? Harry asked.

"Does that really matter?" Draco reached up to toy with a particularly unruly strand of Harry's hair. "I mean, if I enjoy being around her..."

"That might be because you've discovered the easiest way to torment the poor woman," Harry filled in, "and she's started regretting pointing a camera at you."

"She figured out how to shoot back," Draco said.

"And yet you haven't said if I'm going to get an angry visit from one or more Weasleys about how you treated Susan."

"Harry, love, I don't control the Weasleys," Draco pointed out.

+----+

For the next couple of weeks, life actually managed to feel normal for Harry, inasmuch as he had a normal. He didn't get an angry visits from Weasleys, but that was probably more due to the fact that Susan could apparently handle herself--after their third day working together, Draco came home looking a little shellshocked and not nearly so smugly self-satisfied. 

Hermione didn't come around, for which Harry was immensely grateful. Whether or not they were working together, the fact remained that there were years of bitter resentment between them to try--and fail--to overcome in every conversation. Harry might have learned from the best how to conceal his feelings in conversation, but learning from the best didn't equate to being the best student. He was an average student at best, and unable to Slytherin nearly as hard as Draco.

His lessons with Severus Snape, however, continued apace and with far more promise than he had dared to hope. He was actually beginning to understand what Severus meant when he talked about things like differentiated mindscapes, quadruple-thinking, and nonlinguistic conceptual retention. 

"The fact is," Severus told him one day after he had managed to actually get the old potion master lost in his mind, "an occlumens is difficult to read and influence as much because his mind is strange as because it is protected. The Labyrinth was an effective barrier to the Minotaur's escape not because it was full of traps but because to find his way out of it, he would have needed to retrace his steps on the way in precisely. You have taken many important steps in reordering your mind. If you had begun earlier, you might have been a thousand times more effective as an occlumens, but few have the attention span to learn when it will do them enough good."

"What about you?" Harry asked.

Severus sighed. "I read the principles in a book in the library in my third year, and happened to come across a great many useful pieces of literature in my subsequent studies of epistemology and psychology. I am an autodidact, Harry. This is part of why I am difficult to read. My few teachers in the art saw the strangeness of my methods and encouraged it."

"Then legiliemens don't know what to do with you?"

"Most of them." Severus reached for his little table. Over her days of working with him, Stoppsy had brightened up his one little room considerably, but however well-intentioned the addition of a bright, floral-patterned ashtray had been, it still only served to highlight exactly how much smoking Severus did. He retrieved the cigarette he was working on, frowned at it, relit it with a wave of his hand, and took a long drag. "The Dark Lord, however, was patient enough to unravel my mind. I bested him with skill, not luck, and that is what you are here to learn. He will see the workings of your mind if he probes you, and he will discern that you have some secret to hide. You must be able to overcome him."

"How will I know when I can do that?" Harry asked.

Severus let smoke drift slowly from his open lips, rising from his lungs more as it wished than as he commanded, so that it trickled smoothly through the wrinkles and scars of his ravaged face while he considered his answer. "When neither Albus nor I can penetrate your mind anymore, I shall consider that we may trust to luck, as there will be perhaps a one in three chance of the Dark Lord being unable to break your defenses. I promise you, Harry, those odds are the best we can hope for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Susan isn't anyone I know, but she does carry the traits of several people I know. None of my friends are quite as scary as she is, though.
> 
> Draco, stop being a butt. I've actually implied that that's the nature of Susan's relationship with the twins before.   
> I tend to treat the Weasley Twins as a single character because they come across that way--and are treated that way--in the novels. Fred is George is Gred is Forge. The way they approach relationships usally reflects this in fanfiction, although I'm not sure how often it's deliberate. A lot of people, I'm sure, get as far as "twincest, hawt" and then start writing storied where Fred takes the back door and George sucks off the paramour of the moment. I've seen a few really good (or promising) pieces that explore the nature of the Twins' individuality or lack thereof, with and without sexual or romantic relationships in the mix, but none of them are currently updating, so :P  
> That said, even if he's right, Draco is being a butt about it.
> 
> Susan attended a school of magic somewhere in the Northwestern US. She's an Oregonian, and I'm pretty sure that repeated exposure to Portland is the only reason she didn't kill Draco or just plain break.
> 
> Ah, the timeskip. Classic device of frustrated GMs and authors who really, really, really don't want to write four trillion trivial conversations about how x is slowly beginning to see things from y's point of view or whatever. Don't abuse it, and you're golden.
> 
> It's hard to pin down how occlumency works, but we do get some vital information from the books. For one, we know that learning to clear your mind is one of the most basic exercises. If that was all the information we had, Snape's discussion at the end of this chapter would be very different. We also know that occlumency is a useful--necessary--skill for a double agent, which means that either an occlumens can convince a legilimens that they're not using occlumency, they make their mind so hard to sort out that a legilimens can't understand it when they do get it, or both. I'm going with both here.   
> If clearing your mind is a basic exercise, that suggests to me that one of the most important things for an occlumens to do is to be able to change how their mind works, and if occlumency can be done in your sleep, then that suggests that it's always going on in the background--that it becomes inherent to the skilled mind. That sounds like altering the way the mind works to me.   
> conclusion: an autistic, dyslexic, schizophrenic with severe ADHD would be an amazing occlumens.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with another new chapter...

When Harry got back from his lesson with Severus, there was a crowd outside of the apartment. He immediately regretted the anti-apparation wards on the place, but two years of well-honed avoiding-the-press instinct had him ducking behind a tree and aiming his wand at a nearby car to make it backfire a couple of times. The reporters turned their heads to follow the sound and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

He could feel the magic of the standard media wards to keep muggles from noticing large crowds of wizarding reporters, a sort of dull tingle that buzzed against his skin uncomfortably. He pointed his wand at his face and altered his appearance enough to get by on, then approached the crowd. They were obeying all the regulations and rules, staying off the stoop, leaving a space clear for muggles to pass on the sidewalk, not using flash photography, but they were doing so with a sullen and irritable air.

Harry sidled up to one reporter and said, cheerfully, "What's this about? Isn't this where Harry Potter lives? What's 'e gone and done now? Hasn't kicked out 'is boyfriend, has 'e?"

The reporter turned to look at him, squinted in brief confusion, and replied, "no, it's Malfoy. He's been spouting off about House Elves having rights. Says there ought to be laws that make 'em free."

Harry chuckled. "Always had 'im figured for a decent sort. Anyone can get Harry Potter to like 'im is someone I like." He walked off, went around the corner, ended the spell on his face, and summoned his invisibility cloak. It was, he knew, sitting on top of the dresser in his and Draco's bedroom, and sure enough, it came quickly to hand. He put it on, barged cheerfully through the reporters (with more elbowing in the ribs than was strictly necessary, but he was, after all, _invisible,_ and he might as well enjoy it), and slipped into the front door. A couple of shouts followed him, but the reporters worked out what had happened pretty quickly, and Harry arrived untroubled inside of the apartment. 

"Hello, Harry," Draco chirped from the sofa.

"You've made a splash," Harry informed him, pulling off the cloak. He hung it on the hat rack, which Draco hated because it did weird things to his eyes, and continued on, "You could have warned me, you know. I've already got a massive headache brewing."

"I've left tea on the kitchen table," Draco said. "Susan had me working all morning, and then I was out making noise about House Elves all afternoon. I've had two cups of the stuff already. Sorry I didn't warn you, Love."

Harry sighed, but he couldn't really fault Draco for being distracted.

+----+

"How very strange," Gellert remarked at the replica Albus handed to him. "I never thought it could be set into a ring. You say there is no curse you can detect on it?"

"No curse, no potion, only the horcrux magic and what was in it already. It feels... like this." Albus thrust his magic at Gellert and watched the other's face as it ran through a strange series of contortions. 

Finally, Gellert spoke. "I am surprised at you, Albus. I did not think you could make magic so dark. What have you been through?"

"I have been through a very great deal," Albus replied sadly. "The monster that made this horcrux is more terrible than you, I think."

"I would have heard about a third World War, I think," Gellert objected.

Albus quirked both eyebrows up. "Do you think the man who refused to fold under the power of the Elder Wand cannot prevent such a thing? And even you did, in your own way. Your war scared the muggles so badly that they changed the way they fight. No one wants to kill everyone, Gellert, not even you. But this one... I wonder sometimes."

"I don't think he would have known it was a hallow," Gellert said after a very long interval. His gaunt, waxy face rested on the table. "You were always too cautious, but I... I tried things. The Wand never felt any different when I tried to enchant it." He sighed. "but having never made a horcrux, I don't know. I just don't know. It may not take kindly to such a powerful spell sharing it. You might try to separate the stone from the ring."

Albus frowned. "To see which the spell is on?"

Gellert shook his head. "If he cast the spell on the ring, he believes it to be on both. If you can separate them, he is wrong. If you cannot, you have learned something. Now. I want my book."

Albus produced a thick tome from a pocket that shouldn't have been able to hold it. Gellert snatched eagerly at the book. Alone in his tower, even muggle novels were payment enough for information. Albus stood, and Fawkes took him home.

+----+

Sirius watched Albus traipse across their quarters to the table with the ring on it. He inspected the ring for a few moments, and then began to cast over it. Sirius stood up.

"Albus, what are you doing?"

A pair of conjured tools began to work furiously at the juncture between stone and band while Albus answered. "I am investigating a theory that Gellert proposed. If the stone can be--"

He and Sirius both turned at a small clinking noise, and Albus smiled. The stone and the ring lay apart on the table. Albus conjured a hammer with a wordless twitch of his hand and swung it hard at the ring. It came down with a loud, slightly metallic thud, and when Albus pulled it away, the ring was significantly flattened. He smiled. "The stone pulled the horcrux spell to itself, then. Any curse will lie on the stone. Perhaps, Sirius, my search has been too generalized." He reached, casually, for the ring, and Sirius moved to snatch his hand away, but Albus was too quick. He held the ring up between himself and Sirius. "You see. Harm--"

"Fuck," Sirius breathed. A greasy black splotch was beginning to spread from the place where Albus' hand touched the ring.

+----+

Severus set down his cigarette irritably at the knock on his door, set aside his book with a great deal of theatrical flair, and wheeled to the door. As soon as it was open, Sirius Black pulled Albus Dumbledore through, both their eyes wide with panic. "Damn your wards to hell, Severus!" Black shouted. He eased Albus to the ground, staring with fear at him. Albus' right arm was blackened and withered, and a shadowy stain was beginning to steal into the old wizard's face. "It took us so damned long to get here, and I can't fix this..."

"Tenere Macula," Severus incanted, bringing his wand out and pointing it at Albus. Albus let out a slow gasp of relief. "Remove his shirt," Severus said.

Sirius began to pull off Albus' shirt, and Severus watched him working with a quiet, concerned gaze. "What thing of the Dark Lord's were you poking and prodding at, Albus?"

Albus spoke through laboring lungs. "Horcrux. What was this, Severus?"

"The Stain," Severus replied. "He put it onto certain objects to curse them against others who might use them, but it can only be placed on something he hates. It is invariably fatal. You've doomed yourself, Albus. You did the instant you touched... did you say Horcrux?"

Albus nodded. "How long?"

Sirius finally got away Albus' shirt. Severus sucked in a thin, ragged breath. "It reached your lungs before I could slow it. A minute earlier, and... a few months, maybe a year." His eyes roamed over the ragged border of the curse, It spread from Albus' shoulder nearly all the way around his throat, down, along his chest, covering much of his right side and stopping nearly at the bottom of his ribcage. His chin, and a part of his cheek, were both shadowed with the Stain. "Now, minutes. An hour at the most. It has done its damage, Albus. Why did you not come here with Fawkes?"

"He was panicked. Sirius... Sirius was panicked, and..."

Severus sighed. He could read between the lines easily enough. Fawkes was a sensitive creature, and if he picked up on Sirius' panic, he would have been too frightened to be truly coherent. Severus cast a dark look at Sirius, but before he could say so much as a sharp word, Albus spoke again. "Bring Harry here. He must learn..." his face screwed up in agony and he didn't go on any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that's that. We're getting close to the end of this part. Only a few chapters away, with a couple more Ominous Revelations and then Part 4.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda bad about this, but it does have a symmetry that I like: Dumbledore, once obsessed with the Deathly Hallows, is brought down by one.

Harry rushed into Severus' home with Draco trailing behind him, leaving the dust and noise of Spinner's End outside, replaced by the deathly silence and cigarette stink of the front room. Dumbledore lay on the carpet, his face shadowed by some dark, magical blot. Beside him, Sirius knelt, holding his hands, focused absolutely on Dumbledore. Severus wheeled around and rolled over to Harry. "There isn't much time," Severus said. "Go and speak with him."

Harry and Draco exchanged a traumatized look. They had clearly been roused from bed to come to Severus' home. Draco, normally impeccable, was still sleep-rumpled, his hair sticking up at an odd angle on the side of his head, his Godzilla t-shirt on inside out. Harry was barely more put together, and that because his hair was always a rat's nest and wouldn't show the ruffling of sleep. He was obviously still wearing his pajama bottoms. He knelt next to Dumbledore, watching the old man's eyes open and track him for a moment.

"Fiendfyre, basilisk venom, dragon fire, or the killing curse," Dumbledore rasped. "Use the last only at greatest peril. None but these will destroy a horcrux."

Severus sucked in a startled breath nearby, and Harry spared him a quick glance. "What's a horcrux?" Harry asked.

"It is the method Voldemort used to escape his death," Dumbledore said. "An art darker than any you have yet seen." Sirius' hand shook in its place on Dumbledore's shoulder. Dumbledore brought his right hand, withered and blackened, to grasp at his fingers. "Voldemort has learned to split his soul by committing murder. Each fragment..." A wave of agony snapped the headmaster's mouth shut, and he wheezed, drawing a long breath. "Each piece is stored in a container he has prepared for it. A container that must be destroyed. I have spoken with one who knows more, and he has told me... Harry, your survival..." Dumbledore seemed torn between pain and hesitation as he spoke. Rapid breaths wracked his willowy frame, and and last, the words tumbled from him. "Your survival when first he sought to kill you has doomed you now. There is another piece of his soul, and it lies in you. The last thing you must do... is to die... for he shall be tied to this world as long as you live."

Harry's jaw dropped. 

"I am sorry," Dumbledore began, but he was interrupted immediately by a shout from Draco. 

"No! No, you old bat! You can't do this to him!" Draco lunged forward and slapped Dumbledore across the face. The old wizard rolled his head with the blow and turned towards Harry again. "Just because you're dying doesn't mean you can drag him down with you!"

Dumbledore focused on Draco after a moment, and let go of Sirius' hand to reach up and touch his black fingers to Draco's face. "I am sorry, Draco. If I had only known..."

"WHAT!?" Draco shrieked. "YOU WOULD HAVE WARNED ME OFF OF DATING THE DOOMED MAN!? I HATE YOU!"

"Draco," Harry hissed.

Draco turned to look at Harry, and Harry sighed. "Hate Voldemort. It sounds as though he killed me after all." Harry gripped Dumbledore's good hand. "We have warning, though. We'll make sure I'm the last person he kills."

Draco collapsed, sobbing, against Harry. Dumbledore reached out towards him. "Draco. There is a task you must perform. Take my wand."

Draco reached for Dumbledore's wand, and Dumbledore caught the handle of it. Draco pulled, but Dumbledore kept his grip. "Win it from me," he hissed. "Use it, or this will all be in vain."

Draco pulled, and wrenched the wand from Dumbledore's weakening grasp at last. "There are five left..." Dumbledore managed after a few minutes. "The Stone... The Cup... of Hufflepuff... The Locket... of Slytherin... The snake... Nagini... and..." his breath rattled in his throat, and his eyes slipped closed. "Something... perhaps of Ravenclaw's. Search them out... destroy them..."

Albus Dumbledore suddenly relaxed, and the room was quiet, without his ragged breath to fill it. For a moment, the world seemed to have stopped turning, and then Sirius let out a long, high keening sound, bending to gather up the body in his arms. Severus wheeled back, and Harry stood, dragging Draco to his feet. Draco clutched at Dumbledore's wand, rage and confusion playing back and forth across his face. 

+----+

The days before Dumbledore's funeral, and the funeral itself, passed in a haze. The headmaster's eventual death had loomed over Harry since he came to understand that it was inevitable, but somehow he had always believed that it would be a death from old age, not a tragic loss in the quest to destroy Voldemort for good. Sirius destroyed the Stone with a burst of Fiendfyre that reduced it to ash on the day after Dumbledore died. Most of that day, Harry and Draco spent in bed. They didn't talk about what the old wizard had told them. They only spoke about love, and tried, by some silent agreement, to ignore the doom that hung over them both. Dumbledore's final instruction to Draco was their only concession. Draco used the wand he had been made to take, and kept his old wand for a backup. 

The funeral was a massive affair on the shores of the Black Lake outside of Hogwarts. Hundreds came to pay their respects, and as the funeral wound down, Harry leaned on Draco's shoulder, no longer listening to the speeches being made in front of Dumbledore's white marble tomb. 

Around them, the mourners were ranked in solemn rows. Sirius sat with Remus, stone-faced and miserable. Hermione sat with the entire Weasley family, all of whom were stealing the occasional glance at Harry. Hagrid wept in huge, wracking sobs while Madame Maxime handed him massive handkerchiefs, and Severus sat nearby in his chair, his face a mask either of fury or despair, the two expressions nearly identical even before he was scarred by the flames of his long-ago duel with Bellatrix. Dean and Seamus stood off to the side, Seamus' hair tamed for the occasion and their fingers intertwined. 

As Professor MacGonagall stepped down from delivering the last speech and turned towards the tomb, there was a mournful peal of musical song. With a wailing note that burned through the air, a pillar of flame erupted on the tomb, and the form of Fawkes could be glimpsed in the fire for a moment before he vanished. The phoenix's song echoed over the grounds, majestic and slow. Harry leaned on Draco and listened, tears stinging his eyes. The music swelled and wept, a weight of sadness and mourning in each trilled note the equal any of the mourners. Sirius broke and cried on Remus' shoulder, and Harry turned to see Seamus leaning into Dean's chest.

Only when the song finally fell silent did everyone depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one or two more chapters to go. That second scene was really hard to write.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew... Umbridge...

Sirius sniffled again as Harry helped him to pack Professor Dumbledore's things into boxes in Grimmauld Place. His godfather had insisted on personally destroying the horcrux that had killed his love, and then had mourned for hours over the task of packing up.

Dumbledore's will had left a great many things to a great many people, but none had received more than Sirius. Even without the Black family fortune, it was enough for him to live in comfort for the rest of his life. With it, Sirius could buy and enchant a second Grimmauld Place. Draco handed off a box to Harry off of the wagon they had used to move everything from Hogwarts. for all that the wizarding world had dozens of solutions for most problems that the muggle world would probably never even conceive of, some things were just universal. The box was made of corrugated cardboard, labeled with permanent marker. 

"We're just wondering if you'll be okay," Harry said, glancing off to the side at Draco. Ever since Dumbledore's funeral, Draco had been distant and quiet. It was worrying, but Sirius was the bigger issue just then. We're willing to stay here as long you think you need us."

"I'll be fine," Sirius insisted. "Really. I... I need to go through this stuff alone, anyway. Too many memories." He set down a box inside, took the last one from Draco, and started searching for a place to put it that wasn't already occupied.

"Didn't you know this was coming?" Draco asked.

Sirius looked up, startled. "Know it was... yes, I did. I thought, though..." he sighed, choosing a semi-anonymous bit of floor. "I thought I would wake up one morning to find that he had passed in his sleep, or walk into his study to ask him a question and find him with a book in his hand and a smile on his face. I knew I would... but I couldn't even picture him dying any way but peacefully."

Tears welled up afresh in Sirius' eyes, and he turned towards the kitchen. 

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered. "I can't imagine--"

"I think you probably can," Sirius replied darkly. "I know nearly as much about the horcruxes as Albus did. When I can, I'll help you to hunt them." He vanished into the kitchen, snapping some order with Kreacher's name in it, and the elderly elf appeared.

"Master is telling Kreacher to ask you to leave," Kreacher informed them. There was a barely-restrained triumph in the nasty little creature's eyes. Harry left, and Draco followed him.

+----+

Three days later, Harry was convinced that Draco was going to leave him. He had split his time between being as solicitous as possible and avoiding Harry like the plague. Whenever they embraced, Harry could feel Draco's heart beating with the speed of nervousness.

Seamus disagreed. "He's not going to leave, Harry," he insisted, collapsing onto his (hideous) blue sofa. "Whatever this is... look, Draco's just been reminded of V-Voldemort. He knows you might die facing him, and he's pretty sure it's going to happen in the next few years. But he knows how good you are, too."

Harry shook his head. "Seamus..." he sighed, and spoke no more, just curled up on the sofa with his head in Seamus' lap. Seamus took in a sharp breath and stroked Harry's messy hair until the door opened and Dean came home, dragging the smell of coffee behind him.

"Seamus," Dean prompted questioningly with a gesture at Harry.

"He's convinced that Draco is going to leave him," Seamus answered.

"That's fucking ridiculous," Dean pointed out. "Why?"

"To avoid maybe losing him when he has to fight... You-Know-Who."

Dean picked up Harry's feet, plonked down on the sofa, and began massaging them. "Harry, Draco is smarter than that," he began.

"Dumbledore reckoned Voldemort can't be killed unless I die first," Harry mumbled into Seamus' lap. "Now he's spending so much time at his mum's... and when he's home... he's always acting like he thinks I'll break, like... like he knows there's another shoe that's about to drop."

They were all three silent for a few minutes. Finally, Dean muttered "If he does leave you over that, he won't have to worry about outliving you, because I'll bloody well beat him to death with his own idiot face."

Seamus chuckled. Harry didn't.

+----+

Draco was at home when Seamus dropped Harry off. They were both a little drunk, but it wasn't a particularly long walk, and Harry felt it was justified to stumble in drunk when he was certain he was about to be dumped. Draco jumped up after Harry swung the door shut, rushing to him with a worried look. "Harry, you smell like a brewery," Draco protested.

"Had a few drinks with Dean and Seamus," Harry explained. "Doesn' really matter."

"Harry," Draco said, peering into his face. There was concern etched into his eyes, and he dragged Harry to the couch. "Stoppsy," he called.

Stoppsy appeared with a pop a few moments later, her dandelion-puff hair partially soaked. "How can Stoppsy be helping master..." she watched Harry struggling gently against Draco's efforts to sit him down. "Oh... Master Draco is wanting the sobering solution?"

Draco nodded stiffly, and the house-elf vanished and reappeared with a bottle, which Draco gave to Harry. Harry glared at it, ignoring Stoppsy's noisy exit.

"I don't want--"

"I don't care. Drink it, Harry."

Draco uncorked the bottle and guided it towards Harry's lips. Harry downed it in one go, cringing as the headache it always created came and went. "Augh. Merlin... Only reason it doesn't make me throw up is because it's too quick."

"When it's that bad," Draco scolded, "you're too drunk. Come on. I made some food for us."

"Draco," Harry said, staying stubbornly rooted to the couch, "we need to talk."

"Harry..." Draco sat. "What do we need to talk about?"

"My..." Harry felt his courage leave him. He stared at the floor, not wanting to say the next word, but he didn't let the hesitation last, sucking in a deep breath and starting over. "My death."

"We'll talk about it in the kitchen," Draco told him, and this time he gave Harry no choice, just dragged him off the couch. The lights were off in the kitchen, replaced by two scented candles in jars on the table. The good tablecloth was spread across it, and two chairs set up instead of the usual four. Draco had clearly been the one to set the table, rather than Stoppsy. Given the state of the food, he had cooked, as well. Harry stopped short.

This was not the setting he expected Draco to use to break up with him. That said, Draco was always one for sophistication at odd times, and he wouldn't exactly put it past him.

Draco pulled Harry to the table and sat him down with a gentle pressure on his shoulders.

"I've... I've been thinking a lot about what Dumbledore said," Draco began, standing in front of Harry and fidgeting nervously. His hands darted around as he spoke, in his pocket one moment, toying with his hair or tugging at his ear the next. The flickering candlelight played on Draco's immaculately-dressed figure, and the mingled scents of fresh-cut pine wood and cherries made the whole scene more relaxing than Harry felt. "Harry, I don't know if I can take losing you the way he said I will. I think... I think watching the man I love die in the worst torment I can imagine. And being with you... knowing that it's going to happen... I don't want that." Harry swallowed. Draco was really going to do it.

"But that's what I have," Draco said. "I don't want to be with someone who's facing the fate you are, but the man I'm with is facing that fate. I don't want to watch my lover die, but my lover is probably going to die in front of me." The candles guttered particularly strongly, and the light jumped across Draco's face. "This is what we've been given, Harry. My mother has listened to what I have to say, and Blaise... Blaise has told me in no uncertain terms that I ought to run away to Chile and find a muggle town where I won't hear about what happens to you." He studied a spot on the floor as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. "I can save myself a lot of heartbreak that way." Draco looked up, and his grey eyes were burning with tension and anger. "It's not what I'm going to do." His hands plunged into his pockets, and he seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment, but then Draco looked up and fixed his eyes on Harry's. For a few moments, the only sound was the buzz of the refrigerator. "I've argued with my mother over this. A lot. For the last few days, we've spent as much time glaring daggers at each other as we have talking. She says that if you have to die, and we don't know when, there isn't any point, but then I asked her... I asked her if she would have married my father if she knew what would happen to him. If she would have had me." Draco squared his shoulders, the candlelight glinting warm gold off of his pale hair. He dropped to his knees in front of Harry. "I want you to make a promise to me, Harry, but if you feel like it would empty to promise something you might not be able to do before you die... that I want you to say no. But if the promise is enough..." Draco looked down at Harry's knees, shifted around, and Harry's hands came up to his mouth as he realized that, instead of cutting and running, his boyfriend was down on one knee in front of him, holding a ring in one outstretched palm.

"Harry, will you promise to marry me? As soon as we can, as soon as there's a way. There's nowhere in the world right now that will let us, but if I could take you somewhere tonight and call you my husband tomorrow--"

Harry rushed down off the chair and flung his arms around Draco, and although neither of them said a word, he managed to make his answer abundantly clear.

Their dinner got cold, but there were more important things to do that night.

+----+

_Voldemort's Vanquisher Announces Engagement_

_In a quick letter to our editor yesterday, Narcissa Malfoy, acting as a proxy for her son, announced the engagement of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. In a move that surprises many, the longtime couple appear to have developed wedding fever._  
"They know there's no place in the world where they can be legally married," says Mrs. Malfoy, "but there are several places where legislation is or seems to be pending. Ministry policy is clear, and since a marriage that's legal anywhere in the world is recognized by our Ministry, I predict that a great many of Wizarding England's best and brightest will be taking a vacation to see the Potter-Malfoy marriage soon."  
Ministry officials are less confident. "The law recognizing foreign marriages is designed to protect our muggleborn friends, not to undermine the perfectly good marriages offered by the Ministry of Magic's officiators," says Minister for Magic Dolores Umbridge. "I am even now introducing legislation to fix this loophole."  
Umbridge, who has repeatedly fought against efforts from Potter and his late mentor Albus Dumbledore (who was, notably, also in a homosexual relationship) to contradict official Ministry investigations, claims that this is a very political move, and points to a recent high incidence of very public marriages and engagements among members of what some call "Dumbledore's Army," people who spent their time at Hogwarts as close friends of Potter and believers in his rhetoric regarding the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  
"I don't doubt that these marriages are born of love," insists Department of Records head Amycticus Sharpe. "What is interesting is how loud they're all being. Most of them say that They're marrying so that when [You-Know-Who] comes back, they won't have anything left undone. I think it's rather cynical to use your marriage to make a political point like that."  
Whether the move is political or purely out of love, the trend is undeniable, and it appears that Potter and Malfoy intend to follow it. When asked if they were marrying against he return of He-Who-Must-Bot-Be-Named, both youths confirmed it, insisting that Potter would be on the front lines and in danger until victory was assured, a ridiculous sentiment in the face of Potter's clear victory nearly five years ago. 

Dolores Umbridge set the newspaper aside with a satisfied smirk. There was a fine picture of her next to the article, looking suitably wise and professional. She knew better than to try to pull off the absurd elderly mentor look Dumbledore had used, but she had managed to radiate wisdom and joviality to her own satisfaction for years.

She shuffled the papers on her desk. Some of the liberal elements in the Wizengamot were fighting tooth and nail against her legislation to close the marriage loophole, which was really very vexing, but a shocking number of old purebloods spoke like they had a vested interest in it all, which perhaps they did: Bergens and Hingest did always seem to spend an inordinate amount of time together. She sighed. Whatever was in the ranks of the Wizengamot, it could be ignored for the time being. Let them prance around with men to their hearts' content: they weren't mixing their blood with werewolves and giants, so it didn't matter to her.

What did matter was looking her best. She reached into her jewelry box and pulled out the piece she wanted. A bit of fakery never went amiss, and she had found that heirlooms were the hardest things to question. The locket she'd acquired (by mail-order, of course) from Borgin and Burkes was charmingly ancient, and clearly wizarding. If she could only open it, she would be ecstatic, since knowing whatever secret it took would prove her relation to it in the eyes of most, but either way it was pretty. She dangled it by its chain in front of her eyes. It was really... very, very pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of part 3. 
> 
> A few thoughts on homosexuality in the Harry Potter universe: Homosexuality is at least partially genetic. There are environmental/natal developmental factors to consider, but genetics certainly plays a role. In a world in which arranged marriages are entered by men and women with the specific aim of producing viable heirs, and in which producing those heirs is seen as a duty to the entirety of society, I've made the logical--if probably vastly oversimplified--assumption that hundreds of generations of purebloods have had children to create more purebloods despite being gay, and that this has bred true. therefore, there is a slightly higher-than-average rate of homosexuality among purebloods in most of my Harry Potter universes.
> 
> This is unscientific.
> 
> I don't care that this is unscientific. I'm something like a five-point-seven on the Kinsey scale. Heterosexual relationships _bore_ me most of the time, and it's not like they're underrepresented elsewhere.
> 
> Anyways, I'm going to go wash off the grimy feeling of writing Umbridge. God I hate her.


End file.
